Aeviternity
by Fruipit
Summary: Elsa is a Sjelløs and a Hybrid—one without a Soul. One not entirely human. She should have died, she should never had lived beyond a few hours because how can you live without a soul? AU: eventual romance; elsanna. {{for astrarisks}} {{sad ending}}
1. part one

_This was/is being written for astrarisks as a Christmas present because you deserve something really nice (um, I hope it's really nice). I will probs go through and edit again, but like all of my stories, I actually have a plan for this one._

_Inspired by Angel!Anna/Elsa headcanons, _His Dark Materials_, by Philip Pullman, and _swing my heart across the line_, by astrarisks :)_

* * *

**part one **| _a bouquet of genetic disposition_

❄︎

She is born two days before the new year; the colour red paints the sky as token of good fortune, and people cheer and light firecrackers, scaring away bad spirits and omens. No one sleeps until all are gone and the houses are lit up as tribute, fragrant candles offerings to Gods unnamed and unseen.

They decide, within seconds of her entering the world, that she is inauspicious. They do not swath her in luck; no red finds its way into her crib, nor lucky coins. The room is silent as though inviting bad spirits, and not a single word is spoken in her presence.

She does not cry as her parents do, for there is no cure for a non-Natural non-human. There will be no luck nor fortune in her future, and they refuse to give her spirit any hope.

Why? Because she is alone in the world. She has no Sjel to accompany her, unlike her mother's red fox and her father's wolf. They look on in barely concealed horror at the little girl, so naked in her mother's arms without the protection of her own Sjel. And as the new parents cry together, their Sjels finding comfort in each other, they think of nothing but their daughter, cursed by a Heaven she will never be allowed to enter.

The baby with blonde hair will forever be cursed; it is only fitting that they begin now.

They name her after Saint Elizabeth of Hungary, that she will give her wealth to help the poor. She will give her life to help others because she's a Sjelløs, non-human, and that's all she is destined to do.

Their little Elsa.

❄︎

Family does not come to wish them well, or offer condolences. Agdar and Idun mark the passing of a year alone by moving to a reservation as their little girl begins to show her peculiarities. As people begin to notice her missing Sjel.

They point and stare and look at Elsa as though she is a freak. She is a freak.

People who don't have Sjels don't exist. They perish, because how can one live when such an integral part is missing? Those people and their Sjels ignore the way she watches them with bright, intelligent eyes, shooting their own pitying glances that echo Idun's thoughts that every day is a blessing because it won't be long—can't be long–until there is no more Elsa.

People without Sjels don't survive.

And everyone knows it. There have been experiments, see, long since outlawed, that tore and ripped and shredded through that invisible, sacred bond. Because no one can be apart from their Sjel; to do so is to drown, a tsunami crashing down on a mountain, flooding every valley with utter anguish and fear because they're being ripped apart where no one should ever be ripped. Life is a journey you make together; you are never alone. You enter the world, a little Sjel clasped in your hands, and you leave it together, separate, and yet still one being.

People without Sjels don't survive.

That is why Elsa is an anomaly. She is alone.

Her parents sit and watch as she sits in silence, hours upon hours spent gazing at Fåmælt and Hjertelig, her father and mother's Sjels. Fåmælt, much like Agdar, is still and silent. She sits from afar, watching over Elsa like a guardian because Elsa doesn't have her own.

Apparently, Sjels can talk, but not once does Elsa ever hear her parents' speak. They snuffle and whimper on occasion, but they are, to her, simply animals. Intelligent ones, yes, but uncommunicative.

Elsa doesn't see the way she appears to them. Fåmælt can see the emptiness in the little girl and wishes beyond all measure for just a moment of touch, a soul to a human, to comfort her.

It is, alas, impossible, and though Hjertelig is less wary when approaching Elsa, his reddish fur as warm as he himself, he does not—cannot—be near her for long.

It's no fault of his own, even as Idun holds her daughter as much as possible, as though her presence might make up for the lack of Elsa's own Sjel. But he can tell that she isn't... she isn't right.

Agdar and Idun talk some nights, after Elsa has been put to bed. Their daughter isn't afraid of bogeymen. As she grows, she doesn't beg or plead for a story to whisk her away to dreamland. She is calm and collected, reserved and obedient, and perhaps that's the worst of it because she's not a zombie—not like other children, the ones whose Sjels were torn from them. She simply... doesn't feel.

Agdar and Idun seek comfort in each other, and comfort in Fåmælt and Hjertelig, but it's not actually enough because they know that Elsa does not have the same chance.

She was born alone and she will die alone, and there will be no one in between to fill the gap because there will always,always be someone missing.

❄︎

She will sit in silence for hours, attention grasped by nothing but the glow-in-the-dark stars tacked to her ceiling and walls. She crawls and points and questions with looks and frowns. Her dainty hands grasp at fireflies invisible to others, pulling along strings that no one else can see. Her gaze is captured by the corner of the room as though there is somethingthere, just beyond the shadows of the world.

It is the only time she smiles.

And when she grows a little and begins walking, her parents watch on in abject anticipation with each new milestone, waiting for the day she does perish because how long can one truly survive? She laughs, once, for a reason hidden from all but her, and it sets Idun off in a flurry of tears as she cradles her little girl, Elsa looking at her mother with wide, clueless eyes.

She sees her parents' Sjels play, as her parents do. She watches from beyond the boundaries of their room as the four trade gentle touches while she is excluded because you do not touch another's Sjel; there is but one exception, and that is True Love.

And her parents love her, she knows, but it's not enough because she's not like them. It's not a true love and as she grows, five, six, seven years passing, she understands.

Because she might maybe love them but she doesn't know for certain. She can love with the heart of her, but even then, it's not quite the same. She doesn't have a Sjel to love with, so how can anyone truly love her?

And she can't begrudge them, either, for not being able to love her with more than the heart of them.

The knowledge is a heavy weight in her gut, but it doesn't hurt even when it should.

Perhaps that's the saddest part.

❄︎

The other children on the reservation avoid her like the plague and she sees it but can do nought but stand and watch, offering handfuls of snow as though it might make them fear her a little less.

It doesn't make her feel sad.

She's eight, and all she wants to do is build a snowman.

And so, she does. With carrot noses and coal eyes, she talks to the snowman because they are her friends. She names one 'Olaf' and another 'Marshmallow', and both seem right but don't feel it.

She makes it her mission to find the right name for the right snowman. It takes her two whole seasons before she creates the perfect one.

She calls it Anna, and thinks that maybe she could cry when it eventually melts.

The other children are scared of her—Elsa Àrnadalr, the 'girl' who barely deserves that title because she's not reallyhuman, is she?

They don't understand when she plays in the snow, oblivious to the biting wind and chilled powder. They push and shove and ignore her because she's different, and Different People should be feared. How can she even be alive without a Sjel? She's a witch, a sorcerer. Monster.

She's someone less than everyone else.

Childhood will only protect her for so long. Her parents dread the day she, or anyone else, realises just how special she is, their little Elsa. Their little girl with a too-bright smile that those people claim is painted and mischievous personality they claim is false. No one sees the truth behind them because they don't want to.

Because a Sjel has always defined someone, and without one, isn't that a sign?

She's nothing.

❄︎

She's ten when she finally goes to school. She watches the principle stamp a menacing red sign of "Sjelløs" on her file, and she watches as it is locked in a drawer, away from prying eyes.

She's told, in no uncertain terms, that it is not to protect her, but to protect her classmates, to protect the school. She should not be here, she realises, and her parents hand over a hefty envelope that pays more for silence than it does tuition.

The school is busy, out of the way, underfunded. Nobody cares that she is there.

She's used to people not caring about her. These people don't push. They don't shove. There isn't that air of uneasy not-acceptance. They simply don't see her, and she's... happy with that.

She is because she doesn't have to see them. She sits in the back of the class and takes down notes and never raises her hand.

She's a ghost, gliding through the hallways, only a cool breeze to mark the fact that she was ever there at all.

❄︎

It's one month into that first year at her first school when she accidentally touches another's Sjel.

She doesn't mean to, it's just that the library is packed and there's no room to move. She's got her head down, carrying her books, not really watching where she's going. Her arms are wrapped around thick textbooks, dog-eared and smelling of thick musk that isn't unpleasant.

They are heavy, though, and one slips from the pile, desperately seeking the freedom of the ground. She watches it fall, a look of mild shock upon her face; it doesn't really matter, though. It doesn't land on her foot. It's a simple matter to just pick it up and carry on her way.

Except, when she stands up once more, there's a sharp pain in the back of her head, as though a rock has collided with it, before that pain is drowned out by a screaming in her chest. She stumbles forward, books falling as she gasps for breath, choking on nothing.

She lands on the floor, curling inwards as much as possible, holding herself together as she convulses.

There's a wretched feeling in her stomach and her chest, and she feels like she might be sick. Her eyes close, not clenching, as she attempts to calm her breathing.

It seems to take hours for her body to calm down, and by that stage, there's a circle surrounding her, watching on with wary eyes. Even the teachers don't dare approach her as she rolls to her feet, head bowed.

In front of her is a girl, no older than she, with hazel eyes and thick brown hair, a tawny owl clasped in her hands.

Elsa wonders what she felt, if her own reaction to touching the Sjel was so violent.

She scrambles away, away from accusing eyes and horrified stares, and the books that lay forgotten.

❄︎

She spends her days dreaming of blue skies and clear nights. Her father buys her a telescope for her 12th birthday and she catalogues the Heavens for hours on end, marking notes and creating charts that cover her walls in something pure.

It does little to make her feel less alone, but at least now, she has a tangible reason she can tell herself. At least here, eyes turned upwards, she can tell herself that everyone else is alone, too, eventually. Their Sjels will vanish into the night and become everything as their bodies crumble to dust.

It doesn't work, really, those thoughts, so she usually tries to keep her mind from straying to such topics. Perhaps one day in the future, she will be able to look up and imagine, but that day is not this day. Philosophising and self-reflection have always suited her, always come too easy

She wonders, instead, what it would be like to fly amongst the stars, to walk in their light and be free. She doesn't know if the thought makes her happy or sad.

But that doesn't bother her as much as it should, she thinks, because when she looks up at the galaxies swirling, she feels safe. There's a power greater than she, and there's a power greater than anything anyone can do to her, and when she looks up, she doesn't feel so alone. She doesn't feel so lost.

When she looks up, she sees a future that couldn't possibly exist anywhere else than in that moment as everything fades away like an old photograph, until it is but a memory, the only evidence it ever existed a faded sepia, the subjects forgotten save for their smiles.

❄︎

Her parents hug her as she stares at the stars, counting each one, wondering if her Sjel is up there somewhere.

They don't say anything when she asks if she will ever find her Sjel. They don't believe her when she says she can feel it, just out of reach. You can't be separated from your Sjel and survive. She is different, but not that different. Agdar and Idun, and Fåmælt and Hjertelig, they merely stand there, just out of bounds, silently. They don't say anything.

There's nothing to say, she supposes.

❄︎

Everything manifests at puberty.

She'd think that perhaps she is human after all, except it's more than just her growing up. It's more than her just getting boobs and changing shape.

After all, how many people develop cryokinetic abilities?

So, not only is Elsa a Sjelløs, she's a Hybrid. Someone who truly cannot claim to be all human because she can createice and snow. Someone that other people don't talk about, feigning ignorance Her mother holds her close, crying, and her father buys her a pair of thick gloves to hide it, and she knows.

Because Hybrid rights have come a long way in the last thirty years. Sure, there's still discrimination, but it's by no means as common nor accepted now. They're protected by confidentiality laws and Hybrid Equality Now, an organisation to help those who are... different.

They can't help Elsa. Her whole life she's been told she's no human and now...?

Now she's starting to believe them.

She's fifteen when she grows tall and slim and beautiful. Her eyes remain a pale, piercing blue that watch and observe, and her hair is braided in a plait that hangs loosely over her shoulder in an imitation of the one her mother used to do for her as a child.

They don't really touch her anymore, and she both craves and abhors the little contact they give her.

And, with the release of the Human(?) Growth Hormone, she begins to notice other changes that other little girls don't go through.

The nightmares—night terrors—when she sleeps. If she sleeps. She sees things in the corner of her eye that no one else seems to see. Teal and Red.

The snow.

The first time they occur, she is on her own. They all lead to each other, connected in ways she can't decipher because she spent so long looking out and not looking in. She doesn't understand herself.

So when she wakes, heart thumping, blaring in her ears like a warning siren, she almost feels like maybe she could cry if she was capable of it. Her clock ticks out an uncomfortable metronomic, monotonic tone, echoing in the chilled air. She knows it's precisely 3:47 in the morning without needing to look.

She's hot and sweating, trembling uncontrollably even in the cold room, and perhaps the scariest part is that she doesn't know why. She can't remember her dream—she can never remember her dreams—but it was enough to wrench her back into consciousness. Wiping a hand over her face, she takes several slow, steadying breaths.

Her eyes flick up and for a second, there is a pierce of teal and a flash of red before it fades, never there at all. There's something familiar and oh so comforting, like a place she once visited but has forgotten all but the sensation. Something new and exciting and she wants it to come back. She wants it to be tangible.

She must be seeing things, though, because red is not a colour she is allowed, on her person or in her room. Red is forbidden.

But when she stands from her bed, the silky sheets falling to the side as her feet run over the floor, she's given her third surprise because it's not soft carpet she feels. It's a comforting mix of cool snow—fluffy powder—resting atop a thin layer of frost that doesn't hurt her feet nor trip her over as she steps up and makes her way to her door.

It's snowing in her room and once more, she doesn't know if this would be the occasion to laugh or cry, and so she settles for simple awe.

She doesn't need a drink of water anymore; the beat of her heart slows against the inside of her chest as she sinks to the floor and maybe this is her Sjel; not an animal, but a gift. A single, solitary snowflake bursts from the tip of her finger, exploding into a thousand more like the world's most expensive firework, drifting diamonds to the floor.

And Elsa smiles.

❄︎

Elsa no longer spends her nights looking to the stars. Sometimes she will spend an hour tracking Jupiter or Saturn, but more often than not she will sit in the corner of her room, surrounded by ice and snow, and just... be.

The snowmen she builds here are perfect, and sometimes she imagines they talk back to her as she creates them. She swears she hears their voices lulling her to sleep, soft and gentle and beautiful, a flurry of snow across a transparent lake.

She doesn't know how to defrost anything yet, but that's okay because that makes the snowmen something that doesn't leave her.

She has a Sjel, now. It may not be the same as everyone else's, but it's there, protecting her. She locks herself away, the times she's not at school, and builds and creates.

She sometimes sees that same flash of red, but never longer than a second. Never anywhere but the corner of her eye.

She builds magnificent ice statues, sequestered away. They don't melt as fast as other statues do, and that simple fact catches the attention of a small arts college barely an hour's drive away. With such a talent, it's easy to win the scholarship that ensures her place within their walls.

They don't seem to mind that she doesn't have a Sjel. They don't know she's a Hybrid, but that closely-guarded secret is something she'll take with her to her grave. She needs something to be just hers.

She's twenty when she makes the move, Agdar and Idun wishing her teary farewells as Fåmælt and Hjertelig watch on in silence. Elsa smiles, though, because there's no reason to be sad. She'll see them again.

❄︎

She's at a train station when the apparition appears once more. Teal and Red. Teal and Red.

She's sketching a new ice design, the sounds of bells and people fill her ears rhythmically like the ticking of a clock, when she glances up. A gasp tears from her throat and her eyes widen, and it mattered not what she told herself because she couldn't she can't tear her gaze away.

The teal and red materialise into something solid, and for the first time in... forever... Elsa finds herself making eye contact. This other person, this girl... sees her.

Teal and Red.

And she doesn't know what to make of it.

They're on opposite platforms, separated by two train lines. A tinny voice crackles over the speaker, and Elsa is dimly aware that her train is pulling into the station. That small fact only truly registers when she's forced to break eye contact with the strange girl, the locomotive cutting them off.

An immense wave of emotion washes over Elsa, and for a second, she can't breathe. She can neither react to it nor identify it, and in another life, she knows she'd be scared. Right now, in this moment, she only wonders why.

Then, she turns to the right and Teal and Red is standing right there, impossibly close, a soft smile on her face, and the world fades to nothing around them. Elsa is captivated by her eyes, and how this girl is a magnet—a positive to her negative.

"Hello, Elsa," she says quietly, like a whisper of summer carried in on a winter breeze; the breath leaves Elsa's body in one fell swoop, because she knows this girl. Somehow, somewhere. In another life, or a different life. She knows this girl.

People push past, unseeing and unfeeling, but they don't touch, and there is a feeling in Elsa's stomach that she can't place. It's soft and warm and right.

There is sorrow in the girl's eyes, and she leans up to Elsa, emanating familiarity and comfort. Elsa wants to close her eyes and have the world stop, but of course it doesn't. The world has never heard her prayers—why would it start now?

Instead, it's she who freezes as a warm breath washes over her ear and the girl pulls her close, wrapping her in a freckled hug. Elsa doesn't know what to make of it—how long has it been since she was last touched like this?—but it doesn't matter because it feels... safe.

Even when the girl whispers with an impossible softness, "I'm sorry," it still seems perfect.

And then she's gone, lips lingering on Elsa's cheek for a moment before she vanishes.

By the time the blonde has gained her wits, her train has left and the station is empty.

Nothing has ever felt more perfect. Nothing has ever felt more right that the touch of tender lips on her barely-freckled cheek. Even now, Elsa cannot hardly remember what the girl looked like and she sinks to the floor, scrabbling for her charcoal and paper because she needs to remember what Teal and Red looked like. It's not an option.

There was something different about the girl. Different in a way that Elsa is different. It isn't in the way she just appeared. It isn't in the warmth and softness. It isn't in the apology, whatever that means.

She's halfway home, hours late, when she realises.

The girl was alone. She didn't have a Sjel, either.

❄︎

She fades slightly, Teal and Red, only to be thought about when Elsa's eyes align with the sketch blu-tacked to her dorm room. She fades like a candy-wrapper, left too long in the sun, or an old toy tucked away in the corner of an attic. She's still there, but not quite.

Elsa wonders sometimes if her powers really could be thought of as her Sjel; they aren't as comforting as they once were. She builds and creates others like herself, others of ice.

They, like her, don't have a soul. They cannot laugh or cry. She sees a piece of herself reflected in each one and maybe it hurts. She doesn't know.

She wants to see the girl again.

❄︎

It's Christmastime and Elsa has asked her parents to visit. She knows it's against the norm—students go home for Christmas, not have their parents come to school—but they say nothing.

She doesn't have a roommate, so there's no one to ask if they'll mind.

It's three days before the celebratory day, one week before her birthday, when the knock resounds against her door. There's no bounding in excitement to see her Mama and Papa, but there is still a spring that had been missing the last two decades of her life.

That's why she invited them, Elsa knows. She knows a lot more now, it seems. She knows that what she feels is real, no matter how small. Her Sjel is coming home, maybe. Or someone in the Heavens finally answered her prayers. She doesn't care. She wants to see her parents and be able to cry with them, not in sadness, but with joy.

The uniformed officer, her falcon of a Sjel on her shoulder, crushes that dream with two words.

"I'm sorry."

And Elsa thinks that it should be raining, to mark the day. There should be something more remarkable because there needs to be good along with bad. She's had too much bad,

But it isn't. The skies are clear and bright and Elsa hates it like she's never hated it before.

It's Christmas and her parents were coming to see her.

Were.

But now they're not. Their car is trapped in the grill of a truck and their smushed against it like bugs.

And... the thought hurts in a way it never really hurt before. Because Elsa knows now that her parents loved her and that she was capable of the same love. It just came too late.

She collapses against the door, her breath caught in her throat. She blinks and her eyes align on a solitary figure, standing across the road beneath a birch tree.

Teal and Red.

I'm sorry.

And there's a flash of pain in her chest and she stumbles forward. The woman in the uniform catches her but Elsa's still staring past her at the place the girl was standing, vision blurring in a way that is completely foreign and unfamiliar andexcruciating.

For the first time in her life, Elsa Àrnadalr, twenty-two-year-old Sjelløs Hybrid, cries.

For the first time in her life, she feels human.

* * *

_Sjel, and Sjelløs, mean 'Soul' and 'Soulless' in Norwegian._

_Please let me know if I need to do more world-building. The more au-type stories are practise for one I have planned for the future :) For those waiting on _Scarf_, there will be another three chapters :) This one will be 4 total, all of which I have titles for but nothing written._

_I hope everyone had a good Christmas, and astrarisks, I hope this made your day a little better :)_

_[reuploaded 2014-12-31. added words and plot and shit]_


	2. part two

_omfg this took ages im so sorry. I knew what I wanted to do with it but the words never worked. So, here is is. At least one more chapter – there was going to be four, but idk now._

* * *

part two | _a delicate texture of grace_

❄︎

Anna.

That's the girl's name. Teal and Red.

Elsa thinks that if she could be surprised, she would be, but currently her mind's too full of other things to think on it. Teal and Red has a name, and one that she gives gladly as she approaches. The officer seems surprised, passing off a small card into Elsa's hand as she's picked to her feet by freckled arms.

"I'm Anna," she says, this time to the blonde staring ahead. "A friend. I'll look after Elsa."

And Elsa's sobs have stopped and though the tears still run down her face in steady streams, there's no other evidence of her sign of Anna seems more than enough for the officer, and she and her Sjel take their due, leaving the two Sjelløs to themselves.

The pain takes as long to disappear as it did to arrive, though by then Elsa's sitting on her couch, a mug of warm tea pressed into her hand and a soft body against her.

Elsa doesn't talk for hours—she has nothing to say. Not to this stranger who doesn't feel so strange. There is no need to fill the silence. She doesn't care for the girl who has pushed herself into her life—not in the way she once did. It may have been an obsession, but she can't remember now. She's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, and so she ignores it. It doesn't matter.

It doesn't even matter that there's someone next to her. She doesn't bother lying; it would be no better or worse than if she were left alone, as usual. The familiar numbness that haunted her for her life has returned, and with it, serenity. She can take a breath and push aside any pain.

They sit in silence for hours and say nothing because there's nothing to say—until the girl, Anna, turns and says something that Elsa doesn't take any notice of anyway.

Does anything really matter now?

❄︎

"I've seen you before."

Those four words are the first Elsa says, days later, and she can see by the look on Anna's face that it was unexpected. Doesn't know what to say to that and doesn't even try.

"At the train station," Anna nods.

It's almost a week since the news came. Her birthday and Christmas went uncelebrated. The funeral is in two days, but Elsa hasn't done anything for it. She doesn't know how many people will be there, and she doesn't care, either.

Anna cares. Anna cries, more than enough for the both of them, and Elsa wonders how she can be a Sjelløs when she feels _so much_. When she feels so intensely.

Elsa almost thinks she's jealous before she pushes that thought away. She can't be jealous. She doesn't have the capacity for that.

❄︎

She continues her studies, though there's a change that she can't quite explain.

For the first time, she realises just how cold her ice is.

She didn't go to the funeral. Instead, she grieved at home, wrapped in layers upon layers to keep the snow and ice at bay. Even Anna didn't interrupt, though the other girl seems to have become a permanent fixture in Elsa's life. She isn't sure when the other girl moved in, but seeing as she didn't notice, she sees no reason to kick her out. She... enjoys Anna's company, in the same abstract way that she enjoys the sun on her face in winter, or the colours of the leaves in fall. The same way she enjoys a pleasant tune or neat handwriting.

Anna doesn't say anything, either. In fact, it only truly becomes obvious when Elsa goes to class one day, after the end of exams, and feels... lost. Alone or upset, or definitely like there was something missing. It alleviated as soon as she got home, and without a word, Anna had her in a slight, gentle, barely-there hug.

She doesn't know if she likes the contact, though she does feel what seems to be disappointment when she disentangles her limbs from Anna's.

"Who are you?" she asks. Anna is silent for a moment before she gives a strange little half-shrug.

"Whoever you need me to be," she says, but that isn't good enough and Elsa shakes her head.

"No," she says, with as much force as her monotone voice can handle, "who are you?"

And Anna looks away and Elsa knows she's getting an answer. But then Anna looks back at her and she's shaking her head.

"Can I- later?" she asks, and Elsa nods once. Anna gives a relieved sort of smile and before Elsa has time to process it, to really think about what Anna's doing, the red-head leans up and places a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. "Thank you," she murmurs, before she's bounding away and out of the room, leaving Elsa alone and dumbstruck.

❄︎

Anna never tells her, and Elsa never asks. It seemed important then, but now, after the fact, she can't quite remember the reasons it mattered. Anna wears her heart and her emotions on her sleeves, and yet this is one thing she seems quite keen on avoiding. But, the longer it goes on for, the more uncomfortable Elsa becomes. Not in the awkward way; rather, she knows very little about her housemate. Friend. She's almost desperate to learn a little more.

It would be so easy to allow the status quo to remain. To let Anna maintain her silence, just as Elsa has throughout her whole life.

Perhaps that's why she's so keen on that not happening. So for the first time, really, Elsa takes control.

Anna's in the kitchen, making some kind of pasta dish, when Elsa corners her. Elsa's taller, not by a lot, but by enough, and she looks down at Anna with piercing eyes.

"Anna..." she begins, and Anna probably knows what she wants. Elsa doesn't ever approach her without reason, and is even less inclined to speak unless absolutely necessary. Given no other option, Anna doesn't seem so scared. She doesn't seem so... intent on avoiding it.

She cups Elsa's cheeks gently, staring into her eyes as though searching out truths. Elsa doesn't know what she finds, because moments later she averts her gaze.

"Your name is Elsa Arendelle," she says. "My name is Anna Bjorgman. And you're my Sjel."

❄︎

She thinks that the idea should take more time getting used to; that this girl is supposed to be the closest being in her life. It's been too many years for Elsa to feel complete comfort, and not enough time. And yet, she's never once felt such an affinity for another person.

Of course, Anna could be lying, but... Elsa doesn't think so. She's never felt closer to another person. Some days she smiles, for no other reason than she can, and that terrifies her.

Anna terrifies her because Elsa's never been terrified before. Anna brings out things that she's never felt, never thought she had the capacity to feel. Her whole life she believed she was Sjelløs; she was so... apathetic to everything because she did not have a soul to fuel her emotions. Now... she was an entire soul, being apart from and yet never separate to, her human.

To Anna.

❄︎

That doesn't mean she knows and understands how to cope with that information, though.

She doesn't talk to Anna for three days. Can't talk to her. There's no tangible reason for it, but it doesn't matter. Anna seems to understand, and she backs off.

Elsa can't stop thinking about it, a single question swirling about her head.

How?

Elsa... doesn't feel like a Sjel. Never mind the fact that she can touch other people. She can't touch Sjels. Everything is backwards and nothing about this makes any sense. Her head is abuzz, and the only time it calms down is when Anna slips their hands together.

It's the only time it feels right. The only time Elsa fits in with the world.

She fits... with Anna.

❄︎

Routine is easy. Living is easy. It's not as hard to adjust to the idea that they're supposed to be together as Elsa once thought it would be. The memories of her childhood; the shunting of her classmates, and the friendless adolescence, begins to hurt, and she finds herself getting... emotional... about things.

It's harsh and unexpected; a lifetime of living in complete ambivalence has Elsa unprepared for the onslaught of sadness when she remembers her parents. She's unprepared for the burst of joy at eating a chocolate tart at a bakery, the flavours perfectly balanced.

The warmth in her chest when she's greeted at home by a smile and a soft word.

❄︎

Anna contributes to the house. Somehow, even though neither have jobs, she helps pay bills. Elsa's inheritance is spent less and less, the funds dwindling slower and slower until it barely changes at all. They hardly touch it, and Anna just shrugs when she asks.

"You're not the only one who had well-off parents," she says, and it's the most Anna's ever spoken about her past.

But its more than that. She's more than a- a _nanny_. True, she cooks dinner for Elsa when the blonde is too exhausted from school to do anything but sleep. Tidies the house and takes care of things.

She also comforts Elsa when the emotions build up and become too much to handle. They go to parks and hold hands and do the grocery shopping together, and Elsa finds that there's a simple peace in domesticity.

Every night, Anna kisses Elsa on the cheek just before they retire to bed. She sleeps on the couch and wakes Elsa up by singing of a morning, and Elsa knows this is what she's been missing. Not the quirks, or even the person, necessarily, but the company. One who was her, the same was she was them.

All her life she's been looking for Anna. She just didn't know who or what, exactly, she was at the time.

❄︎

Four months after Christmas, and Elsa is finally able to grieve. Grieve their death, and the death of who she was. Grieve her childhood and its pains...

But she can smile at the future and smile at Anna, even through the tears, and she thinks that she understands what 'love' is now, because there is no other word so potent as to describe how she feels about the woman next to her.


	3. part three

_final part. more notes down the bottom._

_thank you for your patience. im sorry for the ending. _

_once you get about halfway, you should probably have figured out how this is going to end._

* * *

part three | _a bold flavour of intimacy_

❄︎

The first time they share a bed, it's done with far less fanfare than Elsa had thought, but just enough to mark the event. It's not far that Anna's been sleeping on the couch – certainly not for the length of time that she had. So, Elsa had just... told her to stop.

"It's silly," she'd said, not looking at Anna. "My bed is big enough. Much more comfortable." Anna looks at her for a moment before she breaks out in a grin.

It's less uncomfortable than Elsa thought it would be. If she's completely truthful, it's actually... really nice.

And when Anna snuggles in deep, sighing contentedly into Elsa's shoulder, she wonders (not for the first time) whether Anna's right; that is is her who is human, and not Sjel.

But, that's not fair – just because Anna behaves more akin to how a Sjel would (if they were human), doesn't mean anything. And even as Elsa questions it, she knows it's wrong.

She can feel it, in the way her mind always seems to be on the befreckled young woman. The way her heart surges, thumping and beating _for_ Anna. As if her very life force, her very essence, is dependent on this young woman.

It's the way she can't stand to be apart from her. The very thought brings an ache to her chest, and an urge to press close and never let go.

She wonders if Anna feels the same things before brushing the thought aside.

Humans can live without their Sjels. Not the other way around.

It explains so much.

❄︎

The first time Elsa initiates contact, she does so unexpectedly. Though, perhaps any kind of initiation from her is unexpected; it's just... different.

Anna's in the kitchen, talking about her day as she chops up some veggies for dinner.

And suddenly, Elsa's there, hand resting at the top of Anna's arm. Anna falls silent, putting the knife down to flit her gaze between Elsa's eyes and her hand. Both of them watch – are drawn to – Elsa's slender fingers as they make thier way up freckled skin.

Elsa can feel Anna tremble, and it makes something clench in her in a not-so-painful way. Her gaze is drawn to Anna's face – her eyes, her nose, her lips – just as her hand comes to cup her cheek.

They're in the perfect position for Elsa to see Anna's eyes widen as she just stares.

And then Anna's lifting her hands to cover Elsa's, holding them there. Elsa lets her thumbs rub at the skin, and Anna doesn't move.

Nothing else happens, but that's not really important. The fact that she did something... that's what matters.

❄︎

It's hard to fall asleep that night. At least, for Elsa. She's never had a problem before, but now, every time she tries, she's overcome with the urge to just look at Anna. To touch her and hold her.

For the first time in her life, she wants to be _touched_. And not necessarily to hold hands and share skin.

She wants to be touched in ways that are more undefinable. Ways she'd never really thought about before because they didn't matter and they didn't apply.

Her cheeks warm and her nose flares, and she's torn between leaving and waking Anna up.

Anna would understand, Elsa thinks. She doesn't say much, hasn't ever really offered much about her personal life, but she just _exudes_ confidence. She knows what she's doing – now that Elsa thinks about it, she probably even has experience. Practical experience. Elsa doesn't even have a clue as to what that entails.

Heart sinking a little, she decides against waking her up. Even decides against asking her about it because she doesn't want to seem desperate. Instead, Elsa just presses herself a little closer. Anna murmurs something under her breath, and even in sleep, she opens her arms and lets Elsa in. Elsa can't help but respond.

She has twenty years to catch up on, after all.

❄︎

Then, it all goes horribly, terrifyingly, wrong.

Anna gets sick.

And it's not just "Oh, have a cough?" sickness. No, this is _illness_. It's bedridden, painful, and Elsa is hopelessly unhelpful.

It goes on for weeks; every time Anna seems to get better, it's followed by a sharp downturn. Eventually, Elsa fears the moments she seems well, because they're always followed by something worse.

Touch becomes their everything, and the moments without Anna at her side are the most painful she's ever experienced.

Finally, she breaks, though. Anna refuses to go to the doctor, a hospital, _anything_, and Elsa can't understand why. There's no reason to refuse, but Elsa only cracks when Anna bites out something that makes her stop dead in her tracks.

"I thought it was going to be worse than this."

Elsa just stares at her, the words swimming around her head but not sinking in. They can't, because if they do, other horrible truths will come out.

Anna knew this would happen. Has known for a while. How long has she been sick for?

With a voice low, not from anger, but terror, Elsa speaks. "Get up. We're going."

And perhaps Anna realises some things herself, because she doesn't argue.

❄︎

The worst word ever created, Elsa thinks, is "terminal".

The worst sentence is "there's nothing we can do".

And perhaps Anna's even more broken than she'd let on because as soon as the doctors leave them alone, she _shatters_, and everything comes spilling out.

How she'd always been sick, even as a child.

How she, like Elsa, had never been expected to live.

Her joy at finding her Sjel, her soul, her other half.

"I thought it would get better," she admits one day. "The sickness, and the pain. I thought it would get better when you were in my life."

She's sitting in a hospital bed, gown too big for her now. Her eyes don't sparkle in the same way anymore, and her freckles stand stark against her ever-paling skin.

The words hurt, more than they should, Elsa supposes. Perhaps that shows on her face because Anna looks away.

Her eyes swim, and when she says, "I think I'll have a sleep..." Elsa knows its her cue to leave, no matter how much she might want to stay. No matter how much she needs to stay.

It stops mattering, though, when she gets up to leave.

She doesn't even make it two steps before her vision blacks and she collapses. The last thing she hears is Anna, crying out for her.

❄︎

The doctors have nothing to offer her. They sit, baffled, four or five of them in a pow-wow at a time, debating medical anti-miracles.

Spontaneous total organ failure at twenty-two years of age.

It doesn't hurt. It doesn't even really feel like she's sick. Every time they'd tried to move her elsewhere, her vitals would plummet; Anna was her medicine, her life-saver.

Any anger or bad feelings vanish. They get their own ward and don't sleep much, because how can you sleep in the moments before death? How can you sleep knowing that life and consciousness' time is limited?

The doctors return every day to separate their beds, and every night, they move them back together again. It helps, they think; they don't get any better, but neither do they worsen.

It takes months for either to admit just how tired they are, and when they do, Anna's the first to voice it.

She knows what her death will mean; it means Elsa will die, and there's nothing she can do about it. Sometimes, when the pain becomes too much, Elsa knows that's the only thing that stops her ending it then and there. Some days are better than others. Some days they can hold hands and step slowly through the hospital, out into the sunshine of the lawn and spend a half hour imagining.

Some days, though, are downright frightening. Anna's so much weaker than she ever used to be, and it's only through Elsa's strength that she can make it to the bathroom some days.

Eventually, it worsens, and it doesn't get better. They stop moving the beds; instead, Elsa moves herself, and they huddle close on Anna's cot, holding each other until the morning. They only sleep when they physically can't remain awake, both cognisant of the fact that any night could be their last.

❄︎

It's only early one morning when Elsa feels eyes on her. She must have slipped into her slumber, but Anna hadn't followed.

She's looking at Elsa, tired eyes soft, a thumb rubbing along her cheek.

"Happy birthday, my little Sjel," she murmurs. It's too hard to speak any louder. It's hard to speak at all. Elsa furrows her eyebrows and tries to sit up, but it only brings a groan from Anna as she's jostled.

"Anna?"

The redhead sucks in a breath. She tries to move, too, but can't quite work up the strength.

"I'm sorry, Els," she grits out. "I didn't- your birthday."

Elsa shakes her head, at a loss, though her heart is sinking and her eyes are prickling. Her body knows something's wrong, even if her mind hasn't quite caught up yet. "Anna, shh, don't speak," she says. Begs. "Save- save your strength.

A huff of air that could be a laugh, and the most beautiful smile Elsa's ever seen. A hand comes up, swaying through the air as she scrambles for purchase against Elsa's face.

Guides her down for one last desperate moment together, pain and anguish disappearing for a single moment as their lips meet.

It's Elsa's first kiss, and as Anna becomes limp beneath her, and as the atoms of her being separate, caught in the first light of the morning, she thinks that it's the single most precious gift anyone's ever given her.

* * *

_okay this wasn't supposed to go this way. the intimacy was supposed to be sex. but then, as i was writing it, that wouldn't work. didn't work. that wasn't what these characters were about._

_and i suppose, in a depressing and morbid way, what is more intimate than dying with someone?_

_im sorry but i hope you liked it anyway. trust me when i say elsa and anna are in a better place here. in a way, it's almost cathartic (for me, as the author). and this is probably the way astrarisks would have wanted it to end ;)_

_please dont shit on it. im tired of having to justify why i, as an author, choose to write what i do._

_fuck you too, anon :)_


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